phylloxera

the dust never settles
it compounds and
pounds on my door

(like)

wine that’s
been decanted
only to be poured
on the floor

i don’t know how
to unmaster the
lock

fumbling with keys
upon keys
i keep circling the
same block

always back to
the porch light’s
warm glow

from a home
i’ll never
(again) know

the villain in
this story
he exists to
sustain her
glory

(all the while)

she fills
her chalice
staining them
(all)
with regret
& malice